


to see you home

by ahtohallan_calling



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Selkie AU, Slow Burn, lighthouse keeper anna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23031940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling
Summary: Perhaps, as she had come to realize, she had been wrong; solitude was what suited her, and so Anna took a post as a lighthouse keeper in a place most people consider the end of the known world.And then one day a stranger washed ashore-- a stranger who might not be entirely human.
Relationships: Anna/Kristoff (Disney)
Comments: 141
Kudos: 123





	1. portent

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to snow for the prompt that inspired this, love u my dude

Rain lashed at the windows hard enough to rattle them against their sills, the roaring echoed by the furious slap of the waves against the shore so far below.

It was the worst storm she had seen yet, here in a land plagued with misfortune, and she knew it would mean no rest for her, not until the skies cleared and she knew her duty had been done.

Even the most reckless fool wouldn't dare to steer his ship her way, not on a night like this, when even on a clear summer's day the rocky coastline was unforgiving for those who face it with anything less than trembling awe and knee-shuddering fear. But the winds were strong enough to sweep sails the wrong way, and so Anna had to stay and guard the light, warning them all to turn back while they still could.

  


* * *

  


Lighthouse keeping was not easy work, but it gave her a sense of satisfaction like nothing else ever had to see ships brought safely home because of her guidance, even though she was well aware it was the light doing the heavy lifting. 

Well— in the less than literal sense it did. The morning after the storm she was down on the beach hauling away washed-up wreckage and collecting driftwood for the fireplace when she saw a man lying face-down in the sand, the tide already lapping ominously at his ankles. 

He was entirely naked, which would have made her blush only a few years ago, but she had long since learned to be indifferent to such things, which served her well now as she hurried to him and turned him over. 

The first thing she noticed was the shock of golden hair flopping over his eyebrows, the color of sunlight in spring. The second was the angry red gash over his chest, sand-encrusted and still weeping blood around the edges. 

She couldn’t help but worry that this was somehow her fault, though she had manned the light until the storm had passed in the wee hours of the morning; she had seen no signs of life, but still, perhaps, she had failed him. 

Then again, perhaps she had saved him, maybe if he had been far out and been guided by the light to swim to these shores. But there was little time to waste on imagining such things, not when she’d get her answer soon enough if she managed to wake him, and so she set to dragging him up the slight slope of sand towards her cottage. 

Not for the first time, she was grateful for the training the previous keeper had given her; he had shown her all the inner workings of the light, made her memorize every maritime signal in his books until even the language of her dreams was spelled out in dashes and dots and flags. But it was the practical matters he drilled into her that were of use to her most often here at the end of the known world where few dared to tread; how to catch and clean her own supper, how to know which bits of wood would burn the hottest, how to lift and haul things that seemed impossible to her when she had first stared them down. 

Little she might be, but the work of the last several months had left her arms firm and her back strong, and she made up for the rest of it in the little tricks the old keeper had taught her— stay leaning down, drag and don’t lift, breathe steady through it all. 

It was still far from easy work to get him up to the house and through the door; she could tell that standing at his full height he’d tower at least a head and a half above her, and as she set her arms under his for one last gasping pull over the threshold, she noticed his shoulders were nearly twice the breadth of hers. There was a beauty to him, the strong, sweeping lines of his torso and the power coiled within the muscles that corded every part of him, but she felt nothing but pity at the sight of him there sprawled on her worn wooden floor, looking somehow paler than he had outside. 

There was no point in trying to lift him onto her bed; she wouldn’t have been able to manage it even if she hadn’t already exhausted herself dragging him here, and so she pulled down a pillow and set it carefully under his head, her fingers brushing lightly through his still-damp hair, before draping a blanket over him that wasn’t quite long enough to cover him fully. 

No matter; she needed a look at the gash on his chest anyway. She set the kettle on just long enough to warm the water before carrying it over to him, dipping a rag into the water before beginning to carefully clean the debris from the wound. 

It was deep, as she had feared, but not so bad she could see through to the bone; a small mercy for the both of them. She had seen many things now in her twenty-two years, and a man dying was not yet one of them. 

She moved gently for fear of hurting him, but he showed no signs of life except for shallow, rapid breaths. Once the wound was cleaned, she dipped her fingers into a pot of ointment and spread a sticky layer over it, finally covering it with a clean bandage she scrounged up from a nearly forgotten first aid kit. 

She sat back on her heels, satisfied with her work; he still didn’t stir, but he looked a little less grotesque now with his lower half draped in a blanket and the ugly gash covered in white linen. On instinct, she brushed his hair carefully from his eyes, frowning when she realized that, now that the chill of the sea had worn off, his skin was burning hot. 

“You’re lucky I found you when I did,” she said, her voice creaky from disuse. “At least I hope you are.”

There was little else she could do now to help him, and so she stood and wiped her hands on her pants before returning to her work outside. 

  
  



	2. fortitude

When she came back in an hour later, the man hadn’t moved, but his skin had taken on a grayish tone, one that made her feel queasy if she looked too long. Instead she kept her focus on the odd pile of material in her hands she’d found by the shore. It looked like perhaps it was some sort of coat that had been damaged in the storm, probably beyond salvaging, but she’d brought it back all the same just in case the man woke and was looking for it.

She glanced back at him, feeling her stomach turn again when she saw the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead despite the low-burning fire and the late autumn chill in the air. Even as she watched, he shivered violently.

She tucked the strange coat away in the back of the closet and, after a moment’s deliberation, brought the shovel back with her and set it by the door. No use in not being prepared for the inevitable.

The fishing was always good here the day after the storm, when all of them had been stirred up from the depths by the wind and hadn’t yet found their way back home. Still, something about leaving the man alone in the cabin didn’t sit right with her, not when he was likely so far from home and so close to leaving this world behind. She washed a couple of potatoes and stuck them between two logs in the fire to bake, then returned her attention once more to the man.

“I’m sorry it’s me you’ve ended up with,” she said softly, dipping a clean rag into a cool bowl of water and passing it gently over his forehead. “I’m no great healer, and I’ve no idea how you’d like to be laid to rest if it comes to that. But I’ll sit with you here, all the same.”

Perhaps she was imagining it, but she thought he began to breathe a little easier under her careful ministrations. She kept speaking softly to him, telling him about her day’s work and the weather, as she changed his bandage and cleaned the wound on his chest once more. There was something terribly upside-down about it, seeing someone in the prime of life looking half-dead already and laid out on a creaky floor that was never quite clean of sand. Even after she’d put a clean bandage on him, she lingered by his side, carefully adjusting the pillow and blanket before tracing her fingers over the broad bridge of his nose, down and around the strong curve of his jaw, before settling her palm against his unshaven cheek. “You ought to be with someone who loves you,” she said, and she sighed before getting to her feet once more to check on her meager supper.

* * *

To her great relief, she didn’t have to put the shovel to use the next morning. She had slept fitfully, dreaming of squawking gulls and drowning sailors and strange voices calling to her from the deep, but when she awoke in the gray light of dawn and rolled over to look at the stranger on the floor, there was a faint flush on his cheeks, and his breaths weren’t quite so shallow. A fleeting smile flickered over her features as she slipped out of bed and tiptoed carefully around him to make her breakfast.

“I’ll leave some for you just in case you decide to rejoin the world today,” she told him as she sliced through the dense, seeded loaf of black bread. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m out of butter. I’ll run to the shops later. Wouldn’t want you to think poorly of my hostessing.”

She was surprising even herself; she had spoken more to an unconscious stranger in the last day than she had to anyone in the village in the last six months-- and now here she was saying little things that she hoped would make him laugh if only he was conscious to hear.

_ Fool _ , she told herself as she shoved the door open and stepped out onto the beach to finish clearing the debris she hadn’t managed to haul off the day before.  _ Wasting your breath on some half-drowned stranger when there’s work to be done _ .

She worked for an hour, keeping her focus on the ache in her shoulders and the sweat on her spine and the scratch of wood over her callused palms. It was a distraction, a sorely needed one, but it still wasn’t enough to keep her mind from wandering back towards the man in the cabin, wondering who he was, if he’d survive to thank her, if he’d at least take the time to tell her the story of how he’d gotten there before he turned to go.

It didn’t matter. He’d leave in the end, and she’d be alone once more, the way it was supposed to be. That was why she’d come all the way out here, anyway, wasn’t it?

At last there was no more work to be done, and so she wiped her hands on her pants and made her way back up to the cabin. As she drew nearer, she heard faint noises emanating from within and increased her pace, her foolish heart beginning to speed up as well in anticipation.

When she opened the door, she found him sitting up, shoulders heaving, having just gotten sick all over the floor. "That's what you get for trying to get up before you're ready," she said reproachfully, and he whipped around to face her.

His gaze met hers, and for a moment she was caught, a fly trapped in the dark amber of his eyes. There was something in them that stilled her movement, a wild light that intrigued her as much as it frightened her. 

She took a step closer, and those eyes flickered down to track the movement for only a second before returning to hers. She kept moving until she had passed him entirely to fetch the mop and bucket from the corner of the kitchen.

He still was looking at her when she began to mop up the mess he'd made, though she could see it required no small effort on his part to keep his eyes open. He looked less like a sick man than an injured animal caught in a trap, and so when the bucket had been emptied and the floor was clean, she knelt beside him and spoke as softly as she could.

"There's no need to be afraid of me. I'm only a lighthouse keeper, and it's part of the job to care for injured sailors. Is that what you are, then?"

He didn't respond, his only movement the steady rise and fall of his bare chest as he watched her with those maddening eyes.

"Do you want water?" she asked, miming raising a cup to her lips, and this time a slight crease appeared between his eyebrows.

She filled a tin cup and carried it back over to him, holding it out with the handle facing towards him. He eyed it for a moment before looking at her again.

"What? You think I'd try to poison you after going to the trouble to patch you up?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, but his frown only deepened.

She sighed and took a long gulp from the cup. "See? Perfectly safe."

She filled the cup once more and brought it to him again. This time he took it and drank greedily, draining it. She refilled it twice more before he sighed, sated, and leaned back against the edge of the bed.

She set the cup aside and reached for his forehead; to her surprise, he flinched at the movement, his shoulders taut as she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead.

"I'm only checking for fever," she said quietly. "I'll not harm you."

Even after determining that he did, in fact, still feel hot as coals beneath her touch, she kept her hand in place, waiting until he relaxed somewhat. "There now," she said with a faint smile, brushing his sweat-dampened hair out of his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time already. "It's alright. You can trust me."

He tensed again when she lowered her hand to the bandage over her chest, and so she moved as slowly as she could, fearing that if she startled him now he'd reopen the wound. It looked a little less angry today, though she knew it would still take a while yet to heal. When she had finished smearing a new layer of ointment over it and covered it once more with a clean bandage, she glanced up to see his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breaths growing longer.

"Come on, then," she said, carefully setting her hand on his shoulder and nudging him back towards the pillow on the floor. "Back to sleep with you."

To her surprise, this time he put up no resistance and instead let her maneuver him until he was settled once more. By the time she had the blanket pulled up over his waist once more, he was already fast asleep.

  
  



	3. be not forgetful

In the city, she would have taken the measurements, written them down, sent them off with a maid, and the paper-wrapped package would have been waiting on her doorstep by nightfall.

“This broad across,” she said, holding her hands nearly twice her own shoulder-width apart. 

The shopkeeper nodded. “How tall?”

She stepped back towards the door, eyeing it, and raised up slightly on her toes so she could tap a spot only a few inches below the top of the frame. “To there, I think.”

The man nodded. “We have nothing that size in stock.”

In the city, they would have made it for her within a day, and she would have paid the exorbitant price for such fast work without batting an eye.

“But,” he went on, “perhaps I have something upstairs in my trunk.”

He thudded upstairs, leaving her to look around the sparse offerings of the general store. Most of it was scattered offerings of fishing gear; nets, rods, a few tools to repair those, and two pairs of black rubber boots that looked secondhand. There were a handful of farm implements, a few stacks of basic clothing and textiles, ropes and nails and hammers and, for some reason, a women’s straw hat with an incongruously bright red ribbon.

She drifted past it all-- it was meant for the rare newcomer, or for when a well-used item finally gave up the ghost-- to the shelves of food. There were glimmering jars of pickled white fish she knew the shopkeeper made in his own kitchen, tins of tomato paste that cost so much she raised her eyebrows, and dusty sacks of potatoes and onions she was sorting through when she heard the heavy footsteps return.

“I’ve got one set of clothes,” the shopkeeper said. “From my younger days. It’ll do well enough if he’s not particularly vain.”

She nodded. “Don’t think he has the choice to be right now.”

The man chuckled at that. “What else’ll you be needing, then?”

“Three pounds of potatoes and one of onions. And some more clean bandages.”

“And how much have you brought me?”

She shook her head. “Not a trade this time. Haven’t had time to fish.”

“Twenty pieces, then. The clothes are a gift.”

“I don’t need charity.”

“Aye, but this sailor you’ve found does,” he pointed out. “If he’s washed up without even a stitch of clothing and no boat in sight. And I’ll have to say after the preacher’s last visit it’ll weigh on me if I don’t do my part to help." 

She raised her eyebrows as she handed over the coin and collected her bounty. “What’d he say, then? Hellfire and brimstone?”

The man gave her an inscrutable look. “‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.’”

She shoved her packages into the sack and bid him farewell, the wooden door creaking shut behind her, and that was that. 

In the city, the maid would have spread rumors of the male guest she had squirreled away in her rooms, and by the end of the night she’d have had half a dozen callers coming to inquire after him or to offer her sanctimonious advice about propriety or trying to sneak past her when she fetched tea from the kitchen to get a good look at him. And there’d be a mention of the whole scandal in the society pages, and her sister would be cross with her, never mind the horrible lecture from her mother.

Then again, she’d never have gotten to this point at all. A strange man washing up entirely naked would have been taken to a hospital if he was lucky and the madhouse if he wasn’t, interrogated for hours on end by the police, ended up in the papers and maybe the circus if things had been particularly dull lately, and she never would have encountered him at all apart from seeing an inked illustration in the paper that might have caught her eye for a moment as she watched her father reading it across the breakfast table.

She shifted the sack of potatoes where it was slung over her shoulder. She’d never much cared for the city.

* * *

The sound of the door opening woke him up. For the first time, when his eyes met hers, they were clear. 

She set down the bags she’d carried for the last two miles, rolling her shoulders to soften the ache that had already burrowed deep into them. “Good to see you awake,” she said, crossing over to him.

As she knelt in front of him, for the first time, he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice hoarse but still somehow softer than she’d expected. She didn’t recognize the language, and so she shook her head, and his brows drew together. He tried another tongue, this one sharper around the edges, but she still didn’t recognize it. Frustrated, he leaned back against the bed, his brown eyes looking darker than ever.

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said, raising the back of her hand to his forehead again. To her relief, at last it was cool. “Your fever’s broken, though,” she said, surprising even herself when she smiled.

He looked a little surprised, too, his eyes questioning as they stared intently into hers. “Good,” she said, hoping he’d at least understand something as simple as that. “It’s good.”

Still he just looked at her. With a sigh, she rose to her feet and went back over to the bags, pulling out the clothes the shopkeeper had given her. She tossed them to the stranger, and he caught them in his broad hands. 

“I do have some sense of decency, you know,” she said. “Can’t let you keep lying around bare as the day you were born, especially now that you’ll be able to get up.”

Already he was rising, the blanket dropping to the floor. She turned away as quickly as she could, but not before catching a glimpse once more of his well-muscled frame, gilded around the edges by the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the lone window. 

_ Sort of a shame to keep that covered up, _ she thought, a blush rising in her cheeks when she felt the temptation to steal another glance at him. He certainly wasn’t the first naked man she’d seen, but it’d been a long while now since she’d wanted to touch one, wanted to know if his shoulders were as solid as they looked.

_ You know how he feels, idiot, _ she reminded herself,  _ you dragged him up here and bandaged him, didn’t you? _

He spoke again, only one short word, and she turned back to find him fully dressed in the shopkeeper’s clothes. To her surprise, they didn’t hang on him quite as loosely as she’d expected; his shoulders nearly filled out the worn white shirt, though the vee at the collar dipped low enough to reveal the bandage still on his chest. He’d tucked it in to the black pants so it didn’t billow so badly around his waist; the extra padding was probably the only thing keeping them on. His feet were still bare, though, and she mentally kicked herself for forgetting a pair of the boots. 

“It’ll do for now, I suppose,” she said, tearing her eyes away from him as she crossed to the wall and pointed to the weathered map pinned above the stove. “Look here, now. Let’s see if we can get you sorted out.”

After a moment, he stood behind her. She’d known perfectly well he would loom over her, the top of her head only barely rising to his shoulder, but it was a different thing altogether to feel the sheer size of him behind her, close enough that she could hear the faint sound of his breathing.

She stood on her toes and pointed to northern tip of the peninsula she called home, glancing back over her shoulder. “That’s us,” she explained, and despite the language barrier she knew from the way his eyebrows shot up that he understood her perfectly well.

He reached over her and tapped his own finger several inches away, on the southern end of a small island, before reaching back and setting his hand on his chest. 

“Wow,” she breathed, turning back to look at him. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”

A sadness grew in his eyes as he continued gazing at the map. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as it struck her exactly how difficult it would be for him to return home with no boat or money to buy one with, no way of explaining his situation if he didn’t even understand the most rudimentary words of the language spoken here, not even a friendly face to keep him company.

_ Except you _ , she reminded herself.  _ You can help _ .

“It’s alright,” she found herself saying, and at last he did look at her. She smiled at him again, hoping it did something to comfort him. “You’re welcome here, long as you need. You’ll have to start helping now, of course, not with the light but maybe with the fishing and some of the chores, and I get a bit of an allowance from the government each month, so maybe I can set some aside for you, or you can do odd jobs for the folks in town and--”

His eyebrows drew closer and closer together with each word that escaped her lips. Finally she stuttered to a halt, realizing how utterly useless it was to ramble at him like this.  _ Old habits die hard _ , she thought morosely, a little embarrassed at how quickly her old annoying tendencies had resurfaced.

She set a hand against her chest, just over her heart. “Anna,” she said quietly. “That’s me. I’m Anna.”

He nodded. “Anna,” he said, testing it out for himself, and a prickle ran down her spine at the sound of her name in his mouth.

“Yes. And you?” she asked, pointing at him.

He only shook his head.

“Anna,” she said again, tapping her own chest. “ _ Anna _ .”

She pointed at him, but he shook his head again. 

“You haven’t got a name?” she questioned. “Not at all?”

He shrugged, looking apologetic, and she sighed. “Never mind, then. I’ll just...I’ll pick something to call you, I suppose. At least now I know you can call for me if you need me.”

He nodded, though she could tell by his expression he didn’t understand, and she began to move away. Before she could, though, he caught her chin carefully between two broad fingers, stilling her.

“Anna,” he said quietly, and she knew it was his way of telling her  _ thank you _ .


	4. disappointment

On the morning of the fourth day, Anna turned over, blinking awake, and came face to face with the bare floor. Disappointment was her closest, most constant companion, but somehow this time it surprised her, all the same, when it settled cold and bitter and heavy over her, like a sudden ice storm in spring glazing the intrepid first leaves and dragging them down to the still-hardened earth.

This was what she had wanted, though, when she chose to come here at the end of the known world, the solitude and silence that seemed her birthright, and the strange man who spoke no tongue she’d ever heard had only been a disruption to that, a nuisance.

And yet-- and yet.

She rose slowly, rolling her shoulders back and cracking her spine before rising and dressing slowly, sweeping aside any thoughts of honey-brown eyes beneath furrowed brows and a warm voice that made her name sound like something worth being used. 

The air was crisp enough that as she trudged outdoors, heading for the lighthouse, she pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands, curling her fingers into the unevenly knitted fabric. A late-autumn breeze twined its way through her hair, brushing past her cheeks, and she inhaled deeply, letting the scent of saltwater ground her.

And then she caught sight of him down by the shoreline and felt her heart  _ soar _ , in a way it hadn’t since the last time she’d been fool enough to trust someone. It was a mistake, she knew, not to turn away from him and lock the door behind her-- but she couldn’t do that, could she? Not when he was a lost sailor, not when it was her  _ duty _ to help him-- especially when he was still recovering from a fever and a nasty wound.

Without quite realizing it, she had started to hurry towards him, her forehead furrowed in confusion; he was taking great loping strides up and down the edge of the water, his movements frantic as he searched among the piles of driftwood she’d so carefully set aside and the heaps of seaweed that had yet to wash back out after the storm that had brought him to her.

“Why are you out here, you madman?” she called as she approached, and he whipped around to look at her. “You shouldn’t be out of bed, much less running around doing...whatever it is you’re doing.”

His mouth pressed into a tight line as she drew nearer, though he didn’t try to move away from her. She could tell by the grayness of his skin that she hadn’t seen since that first night that he was exhausting himself; she glanced down and saw scarlet spreading once more through the fabric of his bandage. “ _ Jesus _ ,” she muttered, her hand instinctively flying up to rest on the edge of the white material. “Are you  _ trying _ to kill yourself?”

For a moment he froze beneath her touch, not even breathing, and then he jerked away and resumed his search. Scowling, she stomped after him. “What are you even doing out here? What could be so--  _ shit!” _

Suddenly he stumbled and would have fallen to his knees had she not darted forward just in time to catch him around the waist, keeping him upright. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice too high in her throat.

His breath was ragged as he leaned against her, his chest rising and falling in heaving gasps. She frowned and lifted his arm, draping it over her shoulders. “Come on, then,” she said, jerking her head towards the little cabin. “Back inside with you.”

For a moment she thought he would try to resist her, but at last he nodded and allowed her to lead him away from the water. It was easier work than the last time she’d gotten him up the slight slope of sand, but he was still heavy as he leaned against her, though she could tell he was trying as best he could to bear his weight on his own two feet. 

There was no softness to him; she could feel the muscles that corded his back straining against her palm, and his arm felt like stone where it rested against her shoulders. For the thousandth time she wondered who he was, exactly; how he’d ended up so far from home, injured and ill and with someone half his size who spoke not a word of his language as his only companion and caretaker.

He glanced down at her briefly, his expression unreadable, and she amended her previous thought; his eyes, those were the softest thing about him, dark and warm and always seemingly searching for something.  _ What do you see in me now? _ she wondered as she guided him up the three small steps, reaching up with her free hand to squeeze his where it hung limply against her shoulder.  _ Does it surprise you? _

The moment they had set foot inside the cabin she guided him to sit on the floor. He went down so quickly she wondered if he had meant to do so or if his knees had simply given out beneath him. He leaned back against the edge of her bed, his head falling forward and his hands trembling where they rested on the floor beside his legs.

For the first time since that night she had gotten the shovel, fear rose hot and choking in her chest at the thought that whatever she did to help him might not be enough. She scrambled into the kitchen and snatched up a rag, dipping it in cool water before kneeling before him, already reaching for the hem of his shirt.

“Come on,” she said anxiously, “help me out if you can.”

Weakly, he raised his arms, and she managed to get the shirt off of him after a momentary struggle. The bandage was more red than white now, and she swallowed hard as she removed it and saw that the wound that had only just begun to heal looked hardly any better than it had when he first arrived. Steeling herself, she began carefully wiping away the fresh blood around it in order to see how much damage he’d managed to reinflict.

A hiss of pain escaped him when the rag strayed close to the gash, and Anna couldn’t help but scowl. “That’s what happens when you go running around before you’re better,” she said sternly.

He raised his head just enough to meet her gaze; though his face was drawn with pain, she thought she saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. Perhaps, though he didn’t know the words, he understood her well enough after all.

“All the work I’ve done to keep you alive, and then you go running around trying to undo it,” she muttered as she sat back on her heels to examine her work. 

It wasn’t as bad as she had feared; already the blood had slowed to a steady seep, one that would be stopped entirely with the press of a fresh bandage. “Wait here,” she instructed, rising to her feet.

He managed to catch her hand just before she stepped out of reach, and she froze for a moment, startled by the surprisingly gentle hold of his rough fingers clasped around her own. She turned slowly to look at him over her shoulder and went still again; though the intensity of his amber-eyed gaze swept away thought of anything else from her mind, her heart was several steps ahead of the rest of her and began to pick up speed as they stared at each other.

His thumb slid gently once, twice, against the back of her hand. “Anna,” he said quietly, and a shiver rolled down her spine at the sound of it.

“You’re welcome,” she managed to say, and she squeezed his hand briefly before pulling away.

She could feel his eyes on her back the entire time she was crossing the few steps to the tiny kitchen and sorting through the first aid kit, taking longer than she really needed in an attempt to ground herself once more in reality rather than thoughts of what it might be like to touch him out of want rather than necessity. 

It was futile, though; the moment she turned back around their eyes met once more, and there was that cruel soaring in her chest that she knew would lead to a crushing fall sooner rather than later. She crossed to him with a faint smile anyway, fool that she was, and sat perhaps a little closer than necessary as she unscrewed the jar of ointment. 

She swiped the sticky substance as carefully as she could over the wound on his chest, but he flinched beneath her touch when she brushed against the deepest part of the gash. “Sorry,” she said softly, reaching down with her free hand to squeeze his fingers again for the briefest of moments before picking up the clean white bandage and setting to work on plastering it over the wound.

When it was covered and clean once more, as if nothing had happened at all, she lingered for a moment, stilling her hand just above the center of his chest and looking up at him from beneath her lashes. 

Was it her imagination, or did his heart begin to beat a little faster when their eyes met?

There was that searching look in his eyes again, as if he saw straight through to her soul and was weighing it in his hands, as if he was looking for--

“Oh!” she gasped suddenly and jerked away. “You were looking for-- just a moment--”

She leapt to her feet and scurried over to the closet, leaving him bemused behind her on the floor. The strange pile of material that she’d found on the shore just after she’d rescued him was there just as she’d left it, folded as best she could. She took it in hand and turned to him once more, asking “Is this what you were looking for?”

The moment she did so, everything about his demeanor changed, his shoulders tensing as his eyes grew hard. Any softness she had seen in him fell away, leaving something hard-edged and savage in its place.

She stepped closer anyway, and the moment she was within reach he rose to his feet and snatched the material from her grasp fiercely enough that she stumbled back, half from the force of his movement and half from shock.

“You’re welcome,” she said, and her voice now, too, was hard, any fondness she’d thought she felt for him falling away in her surprise. 

He was breathing hard through his nose as he clutched at whatever this was that meant so damn much to him; for a moment she thought he might shove her aside and head for the door, but when he saw her expression he seemed to reconsider, his shoulders sagging slightly as what looked almost like shame passed over his features.

“Anna,” he said again, and this time her name sounded like a quiet question.

She shook her head, already backing away from him. “You’re welcome,” she said again, turning away as she reached the door. “I have to douse the light now. You--”

She didn’t know how she wanted to finish the sentence, but it didn’t matter anyway; he wouldn’t have understood a word of it, and so she stepped over the threshold and closed the door firmly behind her.


	5. apology

It was new to him, this uncomfortable heavy heat in his chest, and for several long moments after the door slammed behind Anna he wrestled with it, trying to put a name to it. It had bubbled up in him the moment she’d fallen back from him as he snatched his coat from her hands, replacing the sheer terror and then relief he had felt upon seeing her hold it and then offer it out to him.

The offering, that was what had triggered this tightness somewhere in and around his ribs, the way she had guilelessly held it out to him. He had long since learned such seemingly innocent gifts always came with a punishment that far outweighed the prize.

But Anna, it seemed, was the exception to the rule, just as she’d been the exception to  _ every _ rule he’d learned about humans. 

_ Don’t let them touch you unless you want to bleed _ \-- She was nothing like the land-bound sailors who were spoiling for a fight that they found easily when a stranger who only barely spoke their tongue wandered in and looked at them the “wrong way”, nothing like the guards who were so quick to swing their little wooden bats, nothing like the hunters who had pursued him for miles through the surf until at last they’d pinned him down and cut him so deeply he’d thought their narrowed eyes were the last sight he’d see. 

But Anna had done just the opposite of what he’d come to expect, had bandaged the nasty gash on his chest over and over, and touched him in other ways besides, always brushing her little fingers over his jaw or against his hand or through his hair, ways that made something in him quiver like an arrow that had just met its mark. He raised a hand to his own chest now, wishing it was hers again as it brushed against the rough-hewn white bandage that she’d placed with such tenderness only a few minutes ago.

_ A smile means you’re being cheated _ \-- that one, too, had proven so far to be false; when Anna smiled at him it seemed to be out of relief or surprise or sometimes, he dared to hope, simple fondness. He’d learned that rule from experience, too, though it had only taken one particularly bad night that had ended with him shirtless and broken-nosed to drill it into his head permanently. Now he knew if one was flashed his way that it was time to check over his shoulder and make a fast exit, and if it was already too late to brace himself for a barrage of fists and curses and to hold onto whatever paltry possessions he’d managed to acquire as tightly as he could.

And there was the most important rule of all,  _ don’t ever give them the chance to even  _ think _ about keeping you,  _ the one he thought he’d broken today when she brought his coat out from the closet, the reason he’d yanked it from her hand and pushed her away and the reason all softness had evaporated from her expression, from her voice, before she’d turned and left him in here alone.

_ Shame _ , he realized now; that was the word for it, the word for the weight pressing into his chest that had slammed into him the moment he watched Anna’s face fall. 

He had heard stories before of those who fell for humans, who found themselves ensnared and enslaved for it, trapped on dry land until they stole their freedom back. He’d scoffed at them, at anyone who thought humans knew how to do anything but beat and bruise and curse and cheat, who fell for their cruel little tricks, but now--

_ But it’s different _ , he thought fiercely _ , it’s different. Anna isn’t like that. _

He’d been telling himself that since he’d woken one night-- or maybe day; it didn’t matter-- still broiling with fever to the sound of her humming a lullaby and brushing a damp cloth over his forehead and down his cheeks.

She’d seen his eyes flutter open and slowed her movements, whispering something to him, and though he hadn’t understood the words he’d known she was trying to comfort him. And he’d just watched her then as she’d continued her ministrations, the way the firelight made her hair glow golden-red as it slipped over her shoulders like a curtain; the sweet sapphire blue of her eyes as they traced every inch of him, making sure he was alright; the way her cool fingers set aside the cloth to trail over his face in gentle, soothing motions, for no reason except to lull him back to sleep, and despite his struggle to stay awake, to keep drinking her in, she had succeeded.

He wasn’t sure what it might mean to fall in love with someone, but he wanted to learn if it meant more of this, more of her.

He got to his feet then, spurred by that thought. Anna would scold him if she had stayed in here, would put those freckled hands on his shoulders and press him back to the floor and glare at him, solemn-eyed and stern, and he would pretend to resist just to hear her chastise him, just to hear the lilt of her voice and let it wash over him, and only then would he sigh and settle back down. And then she’d smile at him, satisfied, and linger beside him a little longer than necessary, and talk to him, and he’d do his utmost to understand.

But she wouldn’t talk to him anymore, would she, if she was angry with him? And there was a sobering thought, one that gave him pause as he pulled the shirt she’d brought him back on; were things changed now, irrevocably, between them? Hate came so easily to her kind; perhaps his rudeness was all it had taken, and the next time she touched him it would leave a mark.

His gaze slid back over to the coat where it lay rumpled and half-forgotten on the floor, and it occurred to him for the first time that Anna didn’t know. If she had, she wouldn’t have offered it so freely, would she? Would have understood his response, wouldn’t have looked so stunned.

The thought rankled. If she  _ did _ know, perhaps she would be like all the others after all.

_ She wouldn’t _ , the little stubborn voice in the back of his mind insisted.  _ She wouldn’t. They hurt each other, too, if they’re like that. You’ve seen it. _

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, frustrated. He didn’t know how long he’d been here; less than a week, of course, but long enough that it was hard to step away from the coat now that he knew where it was, that he could go back the moment he wanted to.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay and see why she was like this, wanted to listen to her talk to him so freely until the words fell into place and he was able to respond the way she deserved. He wanted to beg her forgiveness, to explain himself, to see if she still smiled the same when she knew he was the sort of creature that most of her kind either took advantage of or warded off with crucifixes and snarled maledictions.

But first, he had to earn enough of her forgiveness that she could stand to look at him again.

He cast his eyes around the austere little cabin in search of something he could do to make himself useful; he’d cook for her, like he’d learned to once when he’d tried his hand at working by the docks, but it might only make her angrier if he used the wrong supplies and left her in need of something. He knew how to repair a few small things, too, but there was nothing to be found that she hadn’t already patched with her own two clever hands; no heavy things to be lifted, and in any case he knew that any attempt would leave him bleeding and faint and only frustrate her more.

His gaze landed on a broom in the corner, and there at last was something useful he could do, pathetic and futile though it might be with the way the wind never ceased spreading sand through the cracks under the door and between the boards of the walls. He picked it up and put himself to work, taking extra care with the corners. Just as he’d reached the kitchen, the door creaked open behind him, and he turned so quickly he felt dizzy for a moment.

And there she was, silhouetted in the doorway, Anna with her long red hair and wind-chapped cheeks and her eyes that were always sad no matter how brightly she smiled at him, eyes that were wide now in surprise, her little pink mouth falling open, too, and he couldn’t hold himself back; he dropped the broom and crossed over to stand in front of her.

She had to tilt her chin up to keep her eyes on his. He waited for a moment for a reproach, but it never came. She drew in a shuddering breath and closed her mouth again, but at least she didn’t turn to go this time.

He wanted to tell her all of it, who he was and where he was from and how she made him feel like he was teetering on the edge of something, like he wanted to lean into the wind and let it carry him over the edge. But he didn’t have the words, not the ones she would understand, and so instead he lifted a trembling hand and set it against her cheek, hoping his touch was as gentle as hers always was.

To his relief, she didn’t pull away from him, though a little huff of surprise escaped her. He dared to move his fingers just a fraction, tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone. “Anna,” he breathed, and she went still.

“Anna,” he said again, trailing his fingers over and down the curving slope of her nose, twice, the way she always did to him when she thought he had already fallen asleep, and she sighed, her eyelids lowering. 

He wanted to keep going, to trace the pink swell of her lips and comb through the silk of her hair and wrap her in his arms and see if she fit there as perfectly as he hoped she would, but instead he moved his hand back to cup her cheek once more, the shame in his chest burning too hot to permit him to keep touching her like this and satisfying his own whims until he had made amends.

It took him a moment to remember the word she had used earlier, when she had accidentally hurt him, but the moment it sprang to his lips it spilled over. “Sorry,” he said, hoping it wasn’t too mangled for her to understand.

By the shocked expression on her face, it wasn’t. “Sorry,” he said again, moving his hand once more to slide to her forehead, combing her hair out of her eyes and stroking down through it, “sorry, Anna, sorry.”

He sounded like a child, he knew, and not a particularly bright one at that, but then her face broke into a smile that glimmered like sunlight on the waves and he knew that though he would have to leave her soon, he would be aching every moment afterward to come back. 


	6. a naming

He was still apologizing when she stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, but the moment she sighed and let her cheek rest against his chest, just to the side of the bandage, the second half of her name disappeared in a huff of breath.

“It’s alright,” she said quietly.

She felt him press a broad hand between her shoulder blades. She could feel his fingers trembling through the thick material of her sweater. “It’s alright,” she said again, closing her eyes and drawing a deep breath. “I’m not angry. You just scared me.”

She never would have admitted to such a thing if he had been able to understand. The important thing, though, was that he knew it meant he was still welcome here-- more than that, still  _ wanted _ here. It was strange, she knew, that all her certainty that she was meant for isolation were swept away in a matter of days by a nameless man with maddening eyes, and she knew she ought to be pulling away, but then his second hand pressed below the first, drawing her closer to his chest, and she sighed and nuzzled her cheek against his shirt.

“Anna,” he murmured again; she could feel his heart beginning to thump harder.

It was tempting to rise up on her toes and brush her nose against his and follow it with the press of her mouth against his rosy, wind-chapped lips, to tangle her fingers in his hair and keep him as close as she could.

But she wasn’t going to make the same mistakes that had led her here.

She lingered for a moment longer before stepping away. His hands didn’t fall immediately, instead drifting slowly, hesitantly, downwards, and she was struck by an idea. She caught one in her own.

“Hand,” she said with a smile, tapping his palm. 

He tilted his head to the side, just barely, as he watched her. It was endearing, somehow, to see someone who dwarfed her so completely look so helplessly confused. “Hand,” she said, repeating the motion, and his eyes lit up.

“Hand,” he said, with a broad, lopsided grin.

She squeezed his hand and dropped it, already searching around the cabin as her mind lit up with possibilities.

* * *

“Be gentle,” she instructed as he reached instinctively for the book, his eyes bright with curiosity. 

He turned to her, fingers hovering over the page. A little line appeared between eyebrows as they drew together. “Be gentle?” he repeated, in that warm voice she was very quickly growing fond of hearing.

“Gentle,” she repeated, and showed him with her own hands how to delicately turn the pages and brush her fingertips just barely against the illustrations. “It’s like soft.”

He knew soft. She’d taught him that earlier with her sweater. She glanced up at him again and saw that his eyes now could be described very well with both of those words. The breath stuttered in her chest as he raised a large hand and set it carefully against her cheek, his thumb trailing back and forth in slow sweeping motions.

“Gentle?” he asked, and she managed to nod.

A slow smile unfurled over his features as he lowered his hand. She fought the urge to grab his wrist and tug it back towards her face and instead turned back to the book, glad he was still a long way off from knowing how to ask her why her cheeks were burning.

Anna was quiet for a long moment, turning the gilt-edged pages carefully as she tried to choose a story to begin with. Next to her, he scooted closer, fascinated by the illustrations. She didn’t blame him; of all the beautiful things she had once owned, the book of fairy tales was the loveliest of them all, and the only one she couldn’t bear to be parted from.

“This book,” she explained, glancing up at him for only a moment, “was my best friend growing up.”

She could practically feel his curious gaze dancing between her expression and the pages. “Friends,” she said again, drawing an invisible line between their chests. “Like you and me.”

That wasn’t the right word for it, for the irresistible pull she felt towards him, the bond that had sprung up fully-formed between them as if she had known him all her life; it made her wonder if something more than a storm had brought him to her.

But he smiled when she made the gesture, and the warmth that had first kindled in her chest that afternoon when he had whispered  _ sorry _ only grew. She smiled back before returning her attention to the book, flipping a few more pages before landing on the story she was looking for.

She didn’t bother reading it to him, instead using the pictures to tell the story of the mermaid who loved a prince from afar, teaching him as many words as she could. 

“When she was on shore,” she explained, “she couldn’t talk. Sort of like you.”

She mimed silence, and again his lips curled up into a smile. She was relieved that he was amused rather than aggravated by her fumbling attempts to communicate using a children’s book and hand signs. He was an eager learner, repeating each word carefully and watching for her approval. 

At last she reached the end of the story, smiling as she trailed her fingers over the illustrated wedding ceremony. “And they lived happily ever after,” she finished. “Happy, like--” She gave him a bright smile. “Happy.”

“Happy. Because...love?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! They were in love! You learn fast.”

He returned his attention to the book, trailing his own fingers carefully around the outline of the mermaid before tracing over to the prince. Anna tapped her fingers next to his, on top of the gold-leaf crown. “You look like him,” she said, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Same hair. Same big shoulders. Maybe I should name you after him, since you haven’t got a name of your own.”

“Name?” he asked, tilting his head again.

“Yes. His name,” she said, tapping the picture again, “is Kristoff.”

She bit her lip; his eyes tracked the motion before raising up again to meet her gaze. “I can call you that. Your name?”

His eyes lit up with understanding. “My name, too?”

“Yes. Anna,” she said, tapping her own chest before pointing towards him, “Kristoff. Yeah?”

He caught her hand where it hung suspended between them, and she sucked in a breath at the feeling of his fingers gently squeezing hers in confirmation. “Yes. You are Anna. I am Kristoff.”

She squeezed back, feeling something under her skin begin to race; it felt somehow like the way she stood on the shore, watching as lightning danced over the waves and sent ripples of electricity rolling through the air. “Hello, Kristoff,” she whispered, and at the sound of his new name on her lips his eyes grew softer than she had seen them yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise next chapter kristoff will teach anna some things too lol he's not dumb he just can't speak her language


	7. inevitabilities

“Good morning,” Anna greeted him, wearing a brightly-lit smile as she handed him a steaming bowl of food, and she was so beautiful with the sunlight streaming through the window and gilding her hair and her eyes sparkling with warmth that for a moment he just stared at her before coming to his senses and raising his hands to accept his breakfast. 

She sat on the floor beside him with her own bowl, forgoing her chair, and began to teach him her words for all these things,  _ porridge  _ and  _ spoon _ and  _ breakfast _ , and he did his best to form the words on his own tongue, but it was difficult when each time he tried her smile grew a little broader.

He couldn’t hold back; he reached out and brushed his fingers over the curves of her face. “This?” he asked softly.

For a moment she froze, her breath stuttering, but then she began teaching him in earnest,  _ cheek _ and  _ jaw _ and  _ nose _ and his favorite,  _ mouth _ , whispered as his thumb slid slowly back and forth just beneath it, tracing the edge of her bottom lip.

She tilted her head just enough to press her lips against his thumb--  _ gentle _ , that was the word she had taught him for such things. “Kiss,” she whispered, and when he smiled in response she caught his wrist and turned to press another to his palm.

He wished he knew her word for this warmth unfurling in his chest, for the shiver that rolled down his spine and the sudden emptiness of his mind, devoid of any thought besides  _ Anna _ . For a long moment he only stared back at her, lost in the blue of her eyes, and then she laughed and pulled away enough to look down and point at the half-eaten bowl on her lap. “Cold,” she said, wrinkling her nose, and he laughed, too.

They finished eating quickly then, eager to get back to more exciting endeavors. Anna set her bowl aside and stood, brushing the sand from her pants, before holding out a hand to help him up. He took it, more for the opportunity to touch her again than from any real need, and let her lead him outdoors.

She pointed to the water and to a little wooden vessel set next to a rock. She spoke to him then, explaining something, but when he tilted his head in confusion, she laughed again and squeezed his hand. “Sorry, Kristoff,” she said, her cheeks pinking a little when she used his new name.

He squeezed back.

After much gesturing and pointing, he’d learned the words “fish” and “boat” and “today”, and surmised that if she didn’t stop wasting time letting him stare at her then they’d have naught for their supper. “You can help,” she offered, hope blooming in her eyes, and a sigh of relief escaped him.

Standing so close to the water, now, there was no escaping it, the call to return; tomorrow it would be unbearable. But for now he could set aside the inevitable and follow after her down the sand towards the boat. 

She insisted on pushing it out to the water herself, putting a hand on the bandage over his heart when he tried to bend down and help. She did at least allow him to hold the boat steady as she stepped in. When he followed after and reached for the oars, she shook her head emphatically and handed him a fishing pole instead. “You fish,” she said cheerfully, “I row.”

She did so, her shoulders rolling easily with the movement; he couldn’t help but admire the sight. To his surprise, she rowed them only a little ways out before gesturing to his pole. “Here,” she said.

He shook his head, his mouth already curling up into a smile. So here at last was something he could teach her. “No,” he said, “no good here. No fish.”

“What? I always--”

He shook his head again and lowered a hand to the water, closing his eyes and letting his instincts take over, tracing the line of the current and the faint scent of salmon and--  “There,” he said, raising a dripping hand and pointing further up the coast. “Go there?”

When he looked back at Anna, she looked so confused he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You know words. I know fish.”

“I go here,” she said stubbornly, pointing at the water beside the boat.

“Yes,” he said, leaning forward to set a hand on either side of her waist, feeling his face warm when his fingers nearly met in the back. He lingered for only a moment before pulling back, keeping his palms the same distance apart. “And you are…”

He raised an eyebrow, and after a moment’s confusion she huffed out a laugh. “Skinny. Fine. Your way.”

She turned her attention back to the oars and to rowing, keeping her head slightly bowed, but he watched her anyway, memorizing every inch of her. She reminded him of sunlight, the way it dappled the waves and sank through them to warm the depths; and of the wind, how it held such power but still chose to blow gently on a spring day; and of the stars in all their glory, how they seemed close enough to cling to until he raised a hand and reached.

“Here?” Anna asked, interrupting his reverie.

It took him a moment to remember that with her he had to speak aloud. “Yes,” he said, reaching for the rod.

She set the oars aside and shifted to sit beside him after he had cast the line, watching curiously as he wiggled it just barely from side to side. Within moments, there was a tug on the end of the line, and with a few quick movements and the flash of Anna’s hands darting forward to catch it, he had his first catch.

When the fish was subdued and put away in the basket Anna had brought, she grinned up at him. “Lucky,” she said, recalling a word she’d taught him from one of the stories in her book, and stuck out her tongue.

“No,  _ good _ ,” he teased back before casting again.

Within half an hour the basket was full, and her eyes were wide and wondering as he set the fishing rod aside and turned to look at her. For a long moment she just looked at him, questions dancing over her expression. At last she settled on one and asked softly, “Who  _ are _ you?”

The breath caught in his throat as he gazed down at her. She was close enough he could count the freckles splashed across her nose. It was tempting to do so, to trace patterns between them like he had over breakfast, but she was waiting. “I’m Kristoff,” he replied, and though it didn’t answer her question she smiled all the same.

Between the pair of them, they made quick work of their bounty once they were back in the cabin. Anna set some aside in the larder, salting some pieces and jarring others, while he fried up enough for their lunch in a pan. She grinned and came up behind him as he worked, setting a small hand on his back.

“Where did you learn?” she asked, pointing at the sizzling pan.

He shrugged, pretending not to know the word. In fact, he had learned bits and pieces in many places; whenever he took work for a day or two this was the sort of thing he preferred over hauling refuse or digging for clams. But explaining all of that would take long enough even if he knew her words for it all, and it’d be followed by questions that demanded answers he wasn’t ready to give, and his time with her was growing scarce.

Instead he put her piece on a plate and offered it to her with a tiny bow. She took it, and, to his surprise, rose up on her toes to press her lips quickly against his cheek. Shocked, he lifted a hand and pressed his fingertips against the spot.

Her lips curled up into a shy smile. “Do you know the word?”

“Kiss,” he said, another word that was quickly becoming one of his favorites.

* * *

The afternoon found the pair of them sprawling out on a blanket by the water. “No more work,” Anna explained, before launching into a detailed explanation.

He understood enough between her gesturing and the few familiar words to realize that she’d planned to spend the whole day on the water scrounging for fish and that his help had greatly sped things along. A sense of pride flooded him then, the thought that at last he’d done something to help her. He smiled, opening his mouth to try and put into words his gratitude, how he was just glad to do some small thing to repay the great debt he owed her, but then he noticed her shivering, just barely, when a cold breeze danced between them.

Without thinking, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to his chest and ignoring the pain the movement sent through the still-healing gash. For a moment Anna stiffened in response before relaxing somewhat and settling against him, shifting so that she sat between his drawn-up knees and could lean back against him.

“Good?” he asked softly, his cheek brushing against her temple.

She nodded, and he realized suddenly that if she turned back to look at him then they would  _ both _ be doing the kissing. “Good,” she replied with a quick flash of a smile.

Neither of them bothered with speaking, instead settling for exchanging soft touches and shy smiles. Anna seemed particularly enamored of his hands, tracing each line and scar and callous before setting her own palm against his, endlessly amused by how much further his fingers stretched beyond hers.

The days were already growing short this far north, and it felt like far too short a time before they were beginning to watch the sun set. He sighed and turned to rest his cheek against the top of her head, and she laughed and caught both of his hands between hers, interlacing their fingers. “What is it, Kristoff?” she asked, the name sending another shiver of delight through him.

“You,” he whispered, and he felt her draw in a shuddering breath.

He pressed a kiss into her masses of unbound, fiery hair, drinking in the sea salt and sunlight scent of her, hoping his memory of it would remain untainted by time no matter how the years stretched on between them. She squeezed his hands a little, her thumbs tracing in small motions up and down. 

“I’m happy you came here,” she said, her voice so low he could barely hear it.

His heart was so full he thought it might burst, so full of  _ her _ that her name was the only word that rose to his lips. “Anna,” he said softly, kissing the top of her head again, “ _ Anna _ ,” and then her temple and her cheek, and then as he began to say it once more she turned and caught his lips with her own.

“Kristoff,” she whispered against his mouth as he cupped her cheek in his palm, his fingers caressing the freckled softness of her skin, and then at last he remembered the word for this soaring feeling that seemed on the verge of carrying him away. She had taught it to him the night before with the pages of her storybook, when her fingers traced over the lines of the prince who had given him his name and trailed down to the princess in his arms,  _ love _ , and her cheeks had colored as her eyes flickered towards his.

His lips had better things to do right now than echo things from the night before, but he thought it, all the same: that he loved her, that it would remain as much a part of him as his hands, his coat, his  _ soul _ , that it would pull him back to these shores a thousand times over even if he never again dared to set foot on this island.

And then at last the sun had set entirely, leaving them blanketed by a field of stars, and though he held her even tighter than before Anna still shivered against him. He pulled back a little, running his hands up and down her arms in an attempt to warm her. “Inside,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose one last time, and she sighed and gave him a nod.

* * *

She had been asleep already for half an hour when at last the inevitable could no longer be ignored. Rest had evaded him entirely; it had seemed like a waste to even consider closing his eyes when the minutes were draining so quickly away.

The coat was where he had left it that day she’d brought it to him, still folded but shoved aside underneath her bed. The moment he touched it the hair on his arms rose, sensing the imminent return to equilibrium, but for the first time in his life, rather than trying to make his return as quickly as possible, he was hanging on to every moment he had, trying to soothe the ache in his heart with one last lingering glance at her. 

He had known it would come to this, to the leaving, but not that it would feel like this. Something behind his eyes burned as he leaned down, brushed her hair back from a temple, and pressed a final kiss there, hoping that at least she felt it in her dreams.

And then, suddenly, the moment came, and he felt himself pulling back from her, instinct taking over as he took quick, sure-footed steps towards where the sea was calling for him to come home.


	8. strange tides

She dreamed of strong arms sheltering her, of running her fingers over an old scar, of stroking golden hair and squeezing broad hands, of kisses that burned and comforted and enthralled.

And she dreamed he could speak to her, that he could listen and understand, that she poured out her soul and that he caught it in his hands and cared for it like his own. She turned to him, then, and said, “Tell me yours, Kristoff, all of it.”

And he looked at her with those honey-brown eyes, sweet and sad and soft when they settled on her, but all he said was “ _ Anna _ .”

She woke up, turned over to reach for him, and found only empty air.

In a moment she was out the door, uncaring of the bitter wind whipping through her hair and under the hem of her nightdress, pounding bare-footed over the cold sand. “Kristoff!” she cried, fear clenching hard and cold as iron around her heart.

She ran a half mile each way up and down the shoreline, frantic eyes searching each dune and wave for any sign of him, but none materialized. The boat was where they had left it, nestled carefully next to the boulder, but, to her dismay, she realized there was a line of footprints running past it, disappearing entirely once they reached the line of tide-smoothed sand. 

The fear felt like something solid in her, choking the breath from her throat and leadening her limbs; if he had gone out alone, had collapsed, had  _ drowned _ \--

She ran for the cabin again, intending to put on something warmer so that she could swim out and search for--  _ for him _ , she thought fiercely,  _ all of him, hale and whole and nothing less. _

The door flung open beneath her frightened touch, and her eyes landed on the newly empty space beneath her bed, the carefully folded blankets by the foot of it, the pillow stacked on top.

So it wasn’t the world he had left, then; it was her.

The lighthouse needed tending; there was detritus by the shoreline; there was another tasteless breakfast to be made and eaten alone, but all she could do was sink to her knees on the vacant floor and weep.

* * *

She worked until her hands bled and her eyes blurred, and still she couldn’t shake the feeling of loss, the longing for the gentle, exploratory brushes of his fingers over her cheek and the rise and fall of his chest against her back. 

But she had already wasted enough time mourning what had never belonged to her, and so she spent the early afternoon on the water, fishing where Kristoff had taught her; sure enough, within an hour she had a wheelbarrow full of fish and was rolling it up the rocky path into the village. She had that new knowledge, at least, that she had gained from the whole endeavor, which was a great deal more than any other man had bothered to leave her with.

Oaken’s eyes widened at the silvery, sea-slicked bounty she offered him. “And it’s all fresh?” he asked, curious. 

“Yes. From today.”

A low whistle came from beneath his gingery mustache. “Where’d you learn a trick like that, city girl?”

She bristled a little at the nickname; he hadn’t called her that since she’d first arrived. “The sailor showed me.”

“Aye? The one you bought my clothes for? How’s he faring, then?”

“He’s gone.”

Oaken’s hands slowed as he counted the coins for her, though he didn’t look up. “I’ve had no word of a ship nor a wagon passing through.”

“There was none.”

His hands stilled entirely. “How many days has it been since the storm?”

“Tonight will be the eighth.”

He set the coin in his hand down with an audible  _ tap _ and came from behind the counter, looming over her; she stiffened a little, but the sudden intensity in his eyes didn’t seem to stem from anger. 

“Anna,” he said, and she was surprised to hear he even remembered her name, “you said he washed up with no clothes, no possessions, not anything?”

“Well-- he had something. A sort of blanket, I think, or perhaps a coat. Why?”

Oaken pursed his lips. “I know what they say in your cities about us folk who still call the wild places home-- but I’ll tell you this, there’s not a one of us who’d be caught unawares when one of the seelie fey came to our shores.”

“One of the-- what?” 

He only shook his head before turning back to sweep the coins he’d counted into a leather pouch. “There are some things yet in this world that cannot be understood, only respected.”

She took the pouch, frowning. “You’re not making sense.”

“Oh, I am, but  _ you’ve _ not got the sense to know it. Not yet, anyway. Come again next week and tell me if you’ve had any other strange visitors to the lighthouse.”

He turned away from her then, humming an unfamiliar tune, and she took it for the dismissal it was. 

* * *

She was still puzzling over Oaken’s words that night as she mounted the steps to the light. Frustrating as it was, the mystery of his meaning had no ache to it, unlike the other questions still spilling forth from her heart, and so she turned it over and over again in the chamber of her mind, relying on her hands’ memory to prepare and light the flame.

She regretted it when she singed her fingertips and yanked them back with a yelp, pressing them on instinct against her lips to soothe them. That she regretted too when it drew out the memory of Kristoff’s fingers pressed there, the way his eyes had sparkled when she’d kissed them, how he’d imitated her later as he held her on the sand.

Her eyes fluttered shut, stemming the tide of saltwater that threatened to spill over once more. For a moment the ache was so great it felt like the press of a wave against her chest, keeping her submerged in murky depths of darkness, but then she drew in a great, gasping breath and forced herself to surface once more.

She moved to stand on the small, iron balcony, leaning against the rickety railing to watch as the last rays of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon. This high up, the chill of the wind was sharp enough to echo the burning in her fingers, but she welcomed its sting, how it forced her to live in this moment and not the ones that had fled all too quickly into memory.

The back of her neck prickled all of a sudden, and on instinct she glanced back over her shoulder. She was, of course, still entirely alone, and gave herself a silent reprimand for such superstitious foolishness; perhaps Oaken’s words had burrowed deeper than she’d yet realized. 

When her eyes returned once more to the shore, they snagged on the barest hint of movement towards the east, on an outcropping of jagged rocks she rarely dared to traverse. She leaned forward, squinting, and realized, to her delight, that it was one of the slate gray seals that sometimes wandered this far north to dawdle on the sand. It was strange, though, to see one without its fellows, and she frowned; had it found itself stranded here somehow?

She knew little about such creatures, but she found herself hurrying down the spiraling stairs anyway and heading towards the rocks, her heart taking flight half from curiosity and half from worry. 

She found herself wishing somehow even more fervently than before that Kristoff were here; if anyone knew how to care for the creature if it were injured, it’d surely be him, and even if he didn’t-- well, he’d be gentle with it in that strange way he had she’d never seen in another man, and she knew she’d smile to see it.

Her thoughts were lost enough in him that the minutes it took to run along the shoreline disappeared in a flash, and she drew up to the edge of the rocks with her chest heaving and eyebrows lowered with confusion.

There was no sign that the seal-- nor any other living thing, for that matter-- had been there at all.

She lingered for a moment, hating herself for letting her thoughts carry her away again and making her miss what had been so plain before her eyes, before sighing and turning again towards the silent cottage.


	9. beacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please forgive me for taking 7 months to update this....i stopped writing at all for a while, and then decided to focus on just one fic at a time, but now i think i might be ready to update this one more frequently as well
> 
> thank you guys for not giving up on this fic haha

His heart was pounding as he waited just beneath the surface of the water, never taking his eyes off of the red-haired figure he recognized so well even through the distortion of the tide that swept slowly over him. Even at a distance, he could read the disappointment that hung heavy on her slim shoulders; it was tempting, almost unbearably so, to resurface and go to her, to see if she recognized him even in this form. 

He knew, logically, that she wouldn’t; from the way she had handled his coat with such indifference, he would be surprised if she had ever even heard of his kind. But he couldn’t help but wonder, anyway, if the stories in her book of fairy tales might have some kernel of truth to them, if a heart could recognize its other half no matter the barriers that lay between them. 

She was gone too soon, even her steps dragged down with the weight of sorrow as she made the lonely trek through the twilight back to the cottage she called home. He waited, watching, until its windows were dark before he sank deeper beneath the water and turned away, letting the faint beam of the lighthouse’s beacon glimmering on the surface above him guide him away from her. 

* * *

To his credit, Oaken did his best to hide his curiosity as she wandered around the store, taking longer than normal to make her weekly selections. The goods he had on offer rarely changed; even the turning of the seasons meant only that a few new jars of canned produce might make an appearance, or that the rough-hewn bolts of fabric might be a few shades lighter than normal. So there was no excuse for her peruse each and every shelf, pretending to deliberate between one sack of shriveled potatoes and another; there was certainly no need for her to take any time looking at the small selection of men’s winter coats he had on offer, though she did notice out of the corner of her eye that he smiled when she did so.

At last she came to the counter and set down the same items she always purchased-- a tin of overpriced tomatoes to make a pot of fish stew that would make a few days’ lunches, a spool of thread to mend what little she owned, seven eggs, and half a dozen other practical sundries. Unable to hold his tongue any further, Oaken said, doing his best to sound casual, “Were you interested in those winter coats?”

“Hmm. I think they were all too big for me,” she said, not looking up from her worn coin purse, trying not to think about how light it felt.

He tried again. “Did you pass the week alone again?”

“Yes,” she said, carefully stacking each copper coin. “But--”

“But?”   
  


She found the corners of her mouth twitching upwards for the first time since the night Kristoff had left. “There’s been a seal who keeps coming to shore. Alone. And when I get close, it always disappears.”

Oaken clapped his hands together, no longer bothering to hide his excitement. “Well. That’s that, then. Take this.”

He reached under the counter and removed a small book bound in black leather. “My great-grandfather’s notes,” he explained. “He was the one people in his village called on when they suspected their child was a changeling, or when the butter wouldn’t churn.”

  
“How...would that help me?”

“Do they teach you nothing in the city?” he asked despairingly, shaking his head. “The fey come in many forms. A selkie’s one of the few not prone to wickedness-- but not entirely harmless, mind.”

“A...selkie?”

He sighed heavily. “Read the book. And take whichever coat you think would fit him best.”

“I can’t afford--”

He waved a hand. “If he doesn’t come back by the next full moon, just bring it back with you. If he does, then bring him with you. That’ll be payment enough. I’ve always wanted to meet one of the fair folk.”

He turned away to count her coins, but though she knew it was a dismissal, she lingered for a moment at the counter, trying to find the right words. At last she settled on the simplest of them.

“Thank you, Oaken.”

He glanced over her and gave her a smile, an affection she was unused to warming her eyes. “You’re wasting daylight. Get the coat and go catch some more fish for me. I’m running low on my stock of lutefisk.”

* * *

He had always thought sunsets were beautiful, the way they painted the sky in riotous shades of coral and gold and orange that almost matched the same fiery shades that shimmered in Anna’s hair. But tonight, after far too many weeks of waiting, he spent the entire evening begging for the sun to sink a little faster, to give over sovereignty of the sky to the moon once more.

Already as the first of the stars began to peer out from the early evening haze, he could feel it, the strange sensation of something beneath his skin ebbing away, the unbreakable, invisible constraints that had kept him from the shore slowly releasing their hold.

_ I’m coming, Anna, _ he thought, watching from afar as the windows in her cottage were lit one at a time by the lopsided candles she made herself. He could picture it, even now, her slender, freckled fingers carefully striking the match and touching it to each wizened wick, the way her lips would purse around a puff of air as she extinguished the flame.

A few moments after she had finished lighting the last of them, the door creaked open as it always did, and she emerged at last, wrapped in the heavy coat she’d taken to wearing over the past week as the winter wind had taken a turn towards bitterness. But there was something different about her tonight; she was carrying a small bundle in her arms, and, rather than turning immediately towards the lighthouse as she usually did, she began to make her way to the edge of the water.

He drew back instinctively, the old fear of humans resurfacing in him, but there was no need; she stopped several yards shy of the water and knelt to carefully set down the bundle. As she rose, she called something out, her words whipped away by the wind before he could make sense of him. She turned towards the lighthouse then, hands shoved deep in her pockets as she hunched her shoulders against the chill.

_ Just a few more minutes _ , he thought, his excitement mounting.  _ I’ll help you keep out the cold, Anna, I promise. _

The moon was at last beginning to rise, her ivory face dappling the shimmering waves, and a strange shiver ran over him just as Anna lit the lighthouse’s beacon. Not hesitating for a moment longer, he pressed forward towards the shore, already beginning the transformation, ignoring the risk of being human under icy cold water.

That he did regret, especially when he stood bare-skinned and shivering with the wind buffeting every inch of him. Curiosity drew him to the bundle Anna had left, and to his surprise-- and delight-- it was the shirt and pants he had worn the last time they had been together; she must have managed to find them before the tide swept them away. Beneath them lay a coat-- the  _ human _ kind-- that he pulled on gratefully and a pair of worn boots.

He had only just begun searching for a hiding place for his own coat when he heard her call the name she had given him. He hurriedly tucked it away under a loose stone he’d found just before he’d left the last time, and not a moment too soon; she burst out of the front door of the lighthouse, legs pumping and arms already outstretched as she ran towards him.

He wanted to call a greeting, but exhilaration had stolen his voice; he settled instead for running towards her as well, trying to ignore the ache in his heart when she drew close enough that he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.

“ _ Kristoff _ ,” she said again, the name tearing from her lips in a sob as she reached him and flung her arms around him; he swept her up from the ground, their combined momentum making him turn in place as she clung to him, weeping and laughing and saying his name all at once.

He set her down after a moment, but still held her tightly, unsure if she was shivering from the cold or excitement or both. He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against the side of her head, and a quiet sigh escaped her as her fingers slid up his chest, resting over the wound that would have killed him without her intervention. He swallowed hard, wishing she’d had time to teach him words for everything he wanted to tell her, but instead he settled for whispering, “Sorry, Anna.”


	10. warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have some fluff

Anna was shaking as he held her, from excitement and cold and, if she was being honest, a little bit of fear. No matter how well Oaken’s fairytales seemed to explain what was happening, a part of her had still thought there was no way it could be true; how could a man with a heart she could hear pounding even now, with such a gentle voice that even now was murmuring frantic apologies, with eyes that burned and soothed her all at once-- how could he be anything even close to monstrous?

_ Not a monster _ , she thought fiercely; he was nothing like the creatures that those in the city whispered about with such fear when the nights grew dark and cold. The seelie fey, that’s what Oaken had called him, and perhaps she didn’t understand his stories, but so long as they meant he’d keep coming back to her, keep holding her like a last hope, she’d believe in them.

“It’s alright,” she whispered, the first thing she’d managed to say besides his name. “It’s alright, Kristoff, I’m not angry with you.”

He drew in a shuddering breath at the sound of her words, his apologies finally stuttering to a halt. He pulled back enough to look at her, though he didn’t let go of her. His eyes raked over her, taking in the sight of her wind-whipped hair and tear-stained cheeks, and after a moment his lips curled up into a smile as he leaned down to press his forehead against hers.

“Hello, Anna,” he said.

“Hello, Kristoff,” she replied, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “I missed you.”

“Missed?”

She pulled back; he let her go only reluctantly, and she took a few steps backwards before gesturing to the space between them. “Missed,” she said again. “You weren’t with me. I missed you.”

Understanding lit upon his expression, and he surged forward to pull her into another hug, burying his face in her hair. “I missed you,” he repeated, and if there was any doubt in her mind that he meant it, any thought that perhaps he was just mimicking her, he pressed a kiss to her temple and said again, “I  _ missed _ you, Anna.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now.”

And so he was, and if the book was right, in seven days he’d be gone again-- but there was time to worry about that tomorrow. For now, Anna reached down and squeezed his hand and turned towards home.

She was unsure of what to speak with him about as they walked towards the little cottage, now that the important things had been said, but the silence between them didn’t seem to bother him. He seemed, in fact, to be rather preoccupied with the clothes she had left for him in the sand, tugging curiously at one of his sleeves as his brow furrowed in thought. She knew he would put the pieces together shortly, and that she would have to explain sooner rather than later how she had known he’d return tonight and what he’d need, and it frightened her a little to wonder how he’d react to finding out she knew who-- or, well,  _ what _ \-- he was.

She decided against trying to explain aloud, knowing he understood far too little of her language to comprehend what she was trying to say. Instead, once they were indoors, she insisted he sit at the table while she made their supper, and after a moment’s deliberation, she set the book Oaken had given her in front of him, turning to the pages that she’d read so many times over these last few days. He was immediately captivated by it enough that he let her step towards the little stove and begin peeling vegetables. She was grateful for a moment where those large, dark eyes turned their attention away from her; as much as she had missed him, she had the distinct feeling of needing to catch her breath after sprinting too hard for too long.

She knew better than most the realities of magic: that it existed outside the bounds of books, that it wasn’t half so horrifying as people said it was, but that it ought to be respected all the same. But her experience had been limited to glimpses and glances; nothing had ever led her to expect that even the most improbable legends might be just as true as those that tended towards the mundane.

She bit her bottom lip as she sprinkled salt over the fish stew she was stirring. Perhaps he’d grown up hearing stories, too, about  _ her _ kind, how wicked they could be. Even if he hadn’t, the humans that had left that gash across his chest had certainly taught him enough.

When the heavy, black pot was bubbling over the flame, at last she turned back to him, worried about what he might have to say. He hadn’t moved, though she could see he’d leafed through the book. Now, as she stepped closer to him, his fingers trembled slightly where they rested on the page, partially covering the image of a man wearing a sealskin as if it were a cloak. Anna drew in a deep breath as she moved the other chair closer to his before sitting down beside him.

“That’s you?” she asked quietly, pointing to the illustration.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, as the line of his shoulders tightened. He resolutely refused to turn and look at her even when she slid her hand to cover his. She didn’t blame him; she was surprised, if she was being honest, that he hadn’t already turned to run back to the sea.

She considered for a moment the best way to ease his fears; there was no point in trying to explain her feelings out loud when he wouldn’t understand half the words. At last she gave up on trying to explain it aloud and instead settled for gently pressing on his arm until he lifted it, looking up at her with a confused frown. Giving him her best reassuring smile, Anna settled on his lap, the smile widening when a look of understanding crossed his brow and he lowered his arm again, this time to wrap around her waist and pull her closer.

“You’re safe here,” Anna said softly, knowing he wouldn’t yet understand her, but that she’d do all in her power to make sure that someday he did. “With me.”

His breath hitched in his throat as she brushed a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Anna?” he said, her name turning to a question that she was more than happy to answer.

She leaned closer, kissing him softly, as if she were afraid she might startle him away; instead he sighed against her lips, his shoulders relaxing under the press of her hands. Relief coursed through her. So the worst hadn’t come to pass after all; perhaps he’d stay a full seven days again, and come back again after that, and maybe then--

“Missed you. Missed kisses,” Kristoff murmured as he moved to trail a line of kisses down the side of her neck, and she couldn’t help but laugh and pull back a bit, her fingers stroking teasingly through the hair that curled onto the nape of his neck. 

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

“ _ Anna _ ,” he said, his mouth pulling into a frown, the consternation in his voice making it clear that what he meant by it was  _ you know I don’t understand what you just said. _

She kissed his forehead before getting to her feet. “Supper,” she said, pointing to the stove and biting back another laugh when he huffed in disappointment and crossed his arms. She was already growing fond of this new side of him, the side that teased and joked with her as much as she did him; it had been years since smiles had come so easily to her. 

“Remember?” she asked as she held up a bowl.

He sighed, pretending to be put upon, but she saw a glimmer in his eyes and knew he was proud he knew it. “Bowl,” he said dutifully. “And spoon.”

“And?” she asked as she filled it.

“Soup. Food. Hot. Eat,” he listed, his eyes tracking the bowl as she stepped back over to him.

“What else?” she asked, holding the bowl just out of his reach.

His brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”

“Good,” she said, setting it on the table, and he smirked.

“ _ We’ll see _ ,” he said, mimicking her tone of voice when she was being bossy.

“Don’t make me regret teaching you how to talk,” Anna said sternly, tapping the end of his nose with the spoon before handing it to him. “One day back on land, and you’re already biting the hand that feeds you. What do you have to say for yourself?”

She could tell that he’d lost the thread of what she was saying after only a couple of words, but still, he shrugged impishly. “I don’t know. Teach me?”

Perhaps he’d understood more than she’d thought. “We’ll see,” she said with a smirk before turning away to fill her own bowl.

* * *

The night was clear and cold. By the end of the week, the wickedest of winter’s weather would have settled over the island, and she would have to stay up most of the night manning the lighthouse and watching for ships that were veering too close to the rocks. But tonight, with nary a cloud or sail in sight and the beacon burning bright, Anna was free to sleep and try to store up as much rest as she could before the storm came. 

She mimed as much to Kristoff; after a few fumbling miscommunications, he seemed to catch the gist of it, and he politely turned his back so that she could change from her homespun trousers and lumpy sweater into her shift and a pair of woollen socks.  _ You’ll need to buy him one as well next time you’re in town _ , she thought; the last time he’d been here, she’d been so focused on keeping him alive and trying to figure out who he was that the idea of getting him pajamas had never even crossed her mind. The thought of him in the sort of woolen union suit her father had used to wear made a laugh rise in her throat, but she pushed it back down; she could hear Kristoff’s feet shifting on the floor behind her and knew he was nervous enough already without having to worry that she might be laughing at him.

“Alright,” she said, turning back towards him. “You can look again.”

He turned again to face her, a strange vulnerability in his eyes; he wanted to ask her something, but even if he had the words, he might be too nervous to say them.

“What is it?” she asked quietly, all vestiges of her earlier teasing falling away.

His cheeks reddened a little as he looked pointedly over her shoulder. She turned and saw he was looking at the bed; when she looked back, he inclined his head towards the floor before returning his gaze to her, clearly hoping it had been enough for her to understand.

It wasn’t, not at first, but then she gasped and said, “Oh! Oh, goodness, no, it’s too cold to have you on the floor this time of year, and that’s why I have both blankets on the bed so there wouldn’t be one for you anyway, and besides that I--”

“Anna.”

“Right,” she said, her voice suddenly several pitches higher than normal. “So. We’ll just-- we’ll share.”

He tilted his head to the side, just barely, the way she had missed so terribly, and she swallowed down a sudden lump in her throat before reaching down to take his hand. “It’s alright,” she said, pulling him over to the bed. 

He shook his head, adamantly refusing to sit down. “Yours,” he said, and she laughed at the determination in his voice.

“You and me,” she explained. “Ours. We can share.”

His frown deepened, and so with a sigh she sat down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t let go of her hand, but he didn’t move to sit beside her, either. “It’s…it’s...” he said, fumbling for the right word. 

Anna waited patiently, trying to hold back any sign of how much it amused her to watch his expression change as he thought through what little of her language he knew. At last he huffed in frustration and said, “It’s skinny.”

A peal of laughter did escape her then at the memory of how he’d convinced her to let him help her fish. “Like me?”

“Yes!” he said, dropping her hand to hold his palms close together. “Too skinny.”

She rolled her eyes and patted the bed beside her. “Sit.”

“Anna--”

“ _ Kristoff _ .”

He scowled, but at last he sat on the very edge of the narrow bed. “Stay,” she said, holding back another giggle at the thought of how it sounded like she was giving orders to a puppy. “Just-- sit there, okay? Let me get the candles.”

She blew them out one by one, her heart beginning to beat faster when she found herself alone in the darkness with him, the only light left the small fire burning in the hearth to keep them warm. She turned back to face him and, just as she had the first time she’d seen him awake, felt herself momentarily stunned by the intensity of his gaze, his eyes gleaming in the firelight.

Neither of them spoke as she drew closer to him, raising one trembling hand to settle her fingers lightly against his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut, a sigh slipping out of him.

“I missed you,” she whispered, and he leaned, just barely, into her touch.

She stepped closer, enough that her knee nudged against his. “Sleep, Kristoff,” she said, and he opened his eyes to frown at her.

Before he could offer further resistance, she pressed gently against both of his shoulders, trying to coax him into lying down. “Sleep,” she said again. “Me and you.”

His eyes widened as understanding at last lit upon him. “Here?” he asked nervously.

Anna nodded and added quickly, “If you want. If it’s alright. Because if it’s not, I think there’s some pallets in the lighthouse, so I can go out there since the snow’s not too bad yet, and--”

Even as she went on babbling, Kristoff at last shifted closer towards the wall and swung his legs up onto the bed, looking expectantly at her until her words trickled into nothing. She pulled the blankets up from where she’d discarded them in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed and settled them over his legs, and then she stood for a moment, suddenly overcome with the gravity of the situation they had found themselves in. She was sharing a bed with a man again, only he wasn’t a man at all, and he’d be here only a few days longer, and he didn’t even speak her language so they couldn’t properly discuss what this  _ meant _ , and--

“Anna,” Kristoff said softly, one hand reaching out to tangle her fingers with his. “Sleep?”

“Okay,” she whispered, climbing slowly onto the bed next to him. “Okay.”

She settled next to him with her back against his chest, the bed creaking beneath their combined weight as he carefully pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. He was right; the bed  _ was _ skinny, and even when he wriggled closer to the wall, they were so close to one another she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

“Okay?” he asked, echoing her.

She managed to nod, and a moment later she felt a hesitant arm drape over her waist. So he was as nervous as she was; the thought made it easier, somehow, for her to nestle closer to him, letting her legs tangle with his under the blankets as her hand settled over his.

She hadn’t realized just how drowsy she felt until now, when she was ensconced in the warmth of his arms and of the realization that he was  _ here _ , that he was himself-- at least the him that she knew-- that he had come back to her. The thought made her lips curl up into a sleepy smile; as if he could sense where her mind lay, Kristoff pressed a kiss into her hair.

“Good night,” she whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

“Good night, Anna,” he said, the sound of her name falling from his lips sending a thrill through her even the hundredth time she’d heard it.

Not wanting to waste a moment with him, she struggled mightily to stay awake as long as she could, even when his arm loosened around her and his breaths evened out before turning into soft snores. She smiled at the sound, at how utterly  _ human _ it was, regardless of how human he wasn’t. 

Maybe-- just maybe-- if the stories in Oaken’s book were true...maybe the ones in  _ her _ book were, too.


End file.
